


You Say You Want Your Freedom

by Telesilla



Series: Never Break the Chain [2]
Category: Baseball RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Alien Biology, Baseball, Drug Use, Forced Bonding, M/M, San Francisco Giants, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-16 23:02:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1364992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telesilla/pseuds/Telesilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suffice it to say, Brandon's not happy the next morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Say You Want Your Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place directly after "Shatter Your Illusions of Love."
> 
> I really do regard the whole situation as non-con and it certainly comes up in the discussion, so I went with the warning for this part too.

The first thing Brandon remembers when he wakes up is his trip to the club bathroom with Timmy. It takes a minute to recall why they were at a club and what they were celebrating, but when he does, he grins. Six fucking RBIs in a historic blowout against the fucking Dodgers, he thinks. Even though he rarely indulges, that was more than reason enough to smoke some of Tim's excellent weed.

In fact, he realizes with a little giggle, Timmy's weed was so good Brandon's still stoned. Or maybe it's all those beers he slammed back on an empty stomach. He's still out if it, that's for sure.

What the hell time is it anyway?

As he rolls over to check the clock, he catches his breath. What the fuck? He's really uncomfortable. Like, seriously....

"Why does my ass hurt?"

Next to him, someone makes a sleepy little noise. Shit--Brandon can't remember picking anyone up at the club. Did he bring a hooker back to his room or was it just some random hook up? He's pretty sure he'd remember that, but his mind is a blank. Just how good was Timmy's weed?

Probably just some girl he picked up; he hasn't been with a hooker since his first days in the minors when he'd wanted to feel like less of a college kid and more like a player. These days, with that 2012 ring in his jewelry box, he doesn't have a hard time picking up girls in bars, even, apparently, in LA. Still, just what was he thinking last night?

In the state he's in, confused, weirdly sore, still a little stoned and sort of drunk, he'd really like to roll over and just go back to sleep. But no, face the fucking music, Brandon.

He has just enough time to be shocked he's in bed with Hunter Pence--seriously what the fucking hell? And then, something hits him like a fastball to the head.

"Now," he says. "Gotta fuck me now." There's a bottle of hotel lotion on the bed near his knee and never mind that he's only done this a couple times--and then only when he's jerking off--it's easy to reach between his legs and slick himself up. He's still sore--and also sticky--but he doesn't care; all he cares about is getting Hunter to fuck him, like right fucking now.

Hunter's lying on his back and it only takes couple rough strokes of Brandon's hand before Hunter's dick is hard and ready for him.

It hurts when he settles down over Hunter's dick, but that just makes it better in some weird way. "C'mon...c'mon, Hunter...." he mutters as he starts to move. _"Hunter,"_ he says and there's something weird there, like he doesn't know what he's saying only he does.

Even as Hunter blinks and says, "huh?" he starts moving his hips, meeting and then matching Brandon's rhythm. " _Brandon_ ," he says and it's the same thing again; Brandon shouldn't recognize his name. Some little part of Brandon's brain is still confused, but for the most part, he really doesn't care.

All he wants is more and more and more. He wants Hunter to fuck him forever--he's Hunter's and Hunter is his and this is perfectly right and necessary. Hunter's muttering his name in that strange way again and it's what Brandon needs to hear.

That little confused part of his brain that's wondering what the fuck is going on kicks into high gear when Hunter reaches up to rest his hands on Buster's hips.

"Your hands," he manages to say, because Hunter's hands are.... Are fucking claws. Which is.... No really, how good was Timmy's weed, because fuck.

"Yeah," Hunter says. "Wanna...." He looks like he's as gone on this as Brandon is. "Need to...need to...."

When Hunter drags his claws--seriously what?-- across Brandon's thighs, it's like fire or an electric shock or maybe the bite of ice on his skin. Only it's good, so fucking good. Brandon's brain stops worrying or even thinking and he slams himself down onto Hunter's cock even harder. 

It feels like forever, like they've been doing this for fucking hours. Hunter's dragging his claws over Brandon's thighs and ass and with each careful scrape it feels better and better. He's muttering Brandon's name and other things, like _mine_ and _need you_ and _love you_.

It's the last that sends Brandon over the edge; he moves down on Hunter's dick one more time. " _Mine,_ " he groans and then he's coming hard enough that he's seeing pale lights and fractured patterns behind his eyes. When Hunter digs his claws into Brandon's skin harder and shoves up into him and comes, it's enough to make Brandon feel like he's coming all over again.

Those lights--those patterns--twist behind his eyes again; Brandon slumps down over Hunter, feeling limp and utterly wiped out. As he loses consciousness, he hears Hunter saying his name again. It sounds right and perfect, just like all of this.

* * *

When Brandon wakes up again, he's feeling a lot more clear-headed and functional. He's still a little confused about where he is and who he's with...but no. That's Hunter next to him and that means everything is all right.

"What? No it's not," he says. He sits up with a wince--because ow--and stares at Hunter in shock. No, he didn't imagine that Hunter's hands are clawed, weirdly shiny, not to mention kind of spiky. No, he didn't imagine that they fucked--twice--but even as he thinks about it, he can feel the pull. Like he wants to have Hunter fuck him again.

"What the fuck?" He reaches down and shakes Hunter's shoulder hard. "What the fuck did you do to me?"

" _Brandon,"_ Hunter murmurs.

"Speak fucking English." Because that's what's going on, Brandon's brain tells him. He and Hunter have been speaking some other language and that's just one more fucking freaky thing that's happened to him tonight.

Hunter still seems out of it, so Brandon reaches down and slaps his face, hard, but not as hard as he wants to. After all, however weird is it, Hunter does have claws. No point in pissing him off too much.

"Huh...." Blinking, Hunter sits up. He stares at Brandon for a long moment, his eyes wide. "Oh fuck...oh fuck...oh fuck...."

"Yeah," Brandon says. "What is going...." But no, that's not the right question. "What the hell are you?"

"Um...." Hunter holds up one of his hands. "Ooops."

Brandon slaps him again, harder. "Don't you fucking 'ooops' me. What the hell did you do to me? What the fuck is going on?" He's trying not to lose it, trying not to get completely hysterical, but it's not easy.

"Gimme a minute," Hunter says, still staring at his hand. As Brandon watches, Hunter's hand twitches and then it's like the claws and spikes twist as his skin--real skin--crawls back over his hand.

In spite of his confusion and fear, Brandon can't help being a little fascinated. Just like that, Hunter's hands look like regular, normal hands. In fact, Hunter looks like Hunter--a little weird, but harmless and familiar.

Only, apparently, he's not so harmless after all. Not that familiar either, it seems.

"You need to tell me what's going on and you need to tell me now." He scowls at Hunter as a sudden, rather terrifying thought comes to mind. "You fucking slipped me something, didn't you?"

"What? Like a roofie?" Hunter sounds indignant, but then he pauses. "Not exactly. I mean I didn't...." Another pause, like he's looking for the right word and not finding it. "None of this was on purpose."

"Oh well, that makes all the difference in the world. 'It's okay, Brandon, I didn't....'" It's Brandon's turn to pause, not to search for the right word, but to keep from using it.

"It's not okay. I know that, all right? This wasn't supposed to happen. Until last night, I didn't even know it could happen." He sounds miserable, but Brandon's not all that inclined to feel sorry for him.

"Just tell me what the fuck is going on, will you?"

Hunter looks down at his hands. "You saw them, obviously. The rest of me...kinda looks like that too. Well, my natural form does."

"So what, you're trying to tell me you're some kind of fucking alien?" Even as he says it, Brandon's sure there has to be another explanation. He desperately wants there to be another explanation.

"I can't tell you that." Hunter frowns and braces himself like he's about to get smacked or something. "Huh...maybe I can? I'm an alien. Wow, that is so weird."

"What?"

"I didn't used to be able to say it. There was...they put in a block or something."

"Goddamnit," Brandon snaps. "I don't even know...."

"Okay, long story very short: I am, in fact, an alien. My parents' scout ship crashed out in the Mojave. They died, I didn't, so I ended up at Area 51. Eventually, they found foster parents for me and let me out into the real world." Hunter blinks. "There's more than that of course, but...there you have it."

It's a lot to take in but there's something about Hunter's bare bones explanation that makes Brandon believe him. "So," he finally says. "When I was saying your name and stuff while we fucked." His face is red, but he takes a deep breath and goes on. "We were speaking your language?"

"Yeah." Hunter buries his face in his hands. "Because...fuck...because...."

"Because we had sex?" Even as he asks, Brandon knows there's more to it than that. He wants--or is it needs?--to do it again or at the very least, he needs to get closer. Reaching out, he puts his hand on Hunter's thigh and immediately feels better. Hunter covers Brandon's hand with his hand right away with a sigh. It's like he's feeling better too, although his expression is still serious.

"Obviously," he says. "It's not just sex. We...um, we bonded. It's kinda like we're married."

"Very funny," Brandon says, trying to take refuge in sarcasm. The problem is: Hunter's words resonate like a truth Brandon already knows. "Only it's not a joke, is it?"

"No. It's not. Fuck...Brandon, I am so fucking sorry. I thought I could control it until Miranda got back to me." Before Brandon can ask, Hunter adds, "Miranda's my...well, she's kind of my handler. She's with the FBI's special agency. And wow, I'm not supposed to be able to tell anyone that either."

"So, let me get this right. Last night, while I was fucking stoned out of my mind, we had sex and we're now fucking alien gay married? And you fucking _knew_ that could happen?" It's weird to say all this while they're all but holding hands, but even that contact isn't helping Brandon much. "Did I even want it?" There's that word in the back of his head again, but Brandon still can't say it.

"Uh...." Hunter trails off.

 _"Don't lie to me."_ Hunter's language, Brandon discovers, is good for snarling.

"No, you didn't," Hunter says very quietly. "At first you were okay with it, or at least you said you were. I dunno, I think you thought we'd just do something...."

It's starting to come back to Brandon now. "I said I was okay with gay sex, but I meant the kind of thing you do with a buddy when you're both kinda wasted. Hand jobs maybe. Not, you know, actual fucking. Twice."

"I can...and really, I didn't know this about myself, really I didn't. But I can...there are pheromones I can give off. And then I did something...I'm not sure but I put my hand on your chest and it was like...."

"Like some kind of switch was flipped." Because Brandon remembers now. He remembers Hunter tossing him on the bed and tearing off his clothes. He remembers how he was really, seriously, not okay with it. He remember Hunter touching him and he remembers when "do not want" changed to "must have right now". 

He pulls his hand away from Hunter and gets out of bed. "Fucking fix it. Call your person and find out how to fix this. You fucking owe me that much."

But even as he heads into the bathroom to shower, because wow, he's a fucking mess, he knows it's not that easy. Something in the back of his head tells him that it's not marriage. Not really. It's a...an _Affinity Bond_ and it's set in his mind--a part of him like being left handed.

He didn't want this. He still doesn't want it. And he can't do without it.


End file.
